


Pants on Fire

by ComposerofDiscord



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, i don't know what happened, this was meant to be funny, undomesticated Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 21:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12713103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComposerofDiscord/pseuds/ComposerofDiscord
Summary: "Bruce never sent him snapchats. He wasn’t even sure Bruce knew how to use the app. But there was the picture for approximately ten seconds.The washing machine was on fire."





	Pants on Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pandamomochan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandamomochan/gifts).



> So I gift this work to you, friend, because I finished it with you in mind. I'm sorry it took almost a year to finish, but with your encouragement, I was able to do it. Thank you always for your love and support. This wasn't meant to be a birthday gift, but happy belated birthday as well! I wish I could do more for you after what you've done for me. Meeting you and Katsu was the best birthday gift I could have ever received. Lots of love, and I hope this makes you laugh. 
> 
> For the readers, the ending was inspired by Momo.

The Dailey Planet was in full swing with reporters yelling headlines across the room, keyboards clacking away, and the ever-hard-working editor, Perry White yelling above the cacophony that was his staff. Clark drowned it all out. Not by choice of course. No, he had a deadline he needed to make before he became subjected to another one of Perry’s infamous spews.

“Past deadline?” Lois more so stated than asked as she sat upon her desk across from Clark. She balanced a stack of papers on her lap since both hands were currently occupied with a red pen in one and a cup of coffee in the other. Not once did she spare a glance over at Clark. She could tell by the speed of his typing alone that he was past his deadline. Judging by the curve of her lips, she also found the fact more than amusing.

“As always.” Clark confirmed as she placed a big red circle around something she didn’t like judging by her expression. “And done.” Clark punched the period with a great sense of finality while Lois’ expression soured even further.

“I hate how you always do that.”

“Do what?”

Sardonic blue eyes flashed his way.

“I just type fast, that’s all.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Give it.” She held her hand out expectantly.

“Now?”

“Yes, quick while I still know where my pen is.” She wiggled her red pun for further emphasis. Clark sighed. Nonetheless, he capitulated and handed her a printed copy of his hot-off-the-press article.

She ripped it apart. Not physically but with every slash of her red pen she hacked away at his writing. A petty part of him wanted to think it was out of vengeance.

“You wrote ‘Bruce’ here.”

“What?”

Lois smirked, “Boyfriend troubles?”

“No, I just… it must have been—”

“One hell of a night going by your description here.” Lois interjected, her smile rivaling that of the Cheshire cat. “Good thing I saw this and not Perry.”

“Yeah…” Clark snatched the article from her before she could go on about his not so subtle typos. “Good thing.”

Suddenly Lois’s amused chuckles were interrupted by the ding of Clark’s phone. “Good thing?”

Clark glanced at the notification banner: ‘Snapchat: Bruce’

“Very good thing.” Clark, not caring if Perry saw him on his phone opened the app. After all, Bruce never sent him snapchats. He wasn’t even sure Bruce knew how to use the app. But there was the picture for approximately ten seconds.

The washing machine was on fire.

 _‘First time doing laundry. It did not go well.’_ the banner read.

Before the ten seconds were up, Clark had Bruce on speed dial. By the third ring, Bruce finally seemed to answer his phone.

“Bruce! Are you okay?!”

A pause. “Fine, whatever would be the problem?”

Clark sputtered at Bruce’s nonchalant tone on the other side of the phone as he was grasping at straws of what he should point out first. It wasn’t the big white elephant on fire. No. Not that.

However, before Clark could point fingers at anything, uproarious laughter sounded from the other side of the phone.

“Brooose! Your pants are on fire.”

Without missing a beat, “Jason says hi.”

Clark felt like slamming his head against his desk. “And the fire?”

“Burning.”

“You haven’t put it out yet?! Hold on. I’ll be right over.”

“Your pants are on fire.”

“What?”

“Your pants. They were in the wash too.”

Silence.

“Clark?”

Clark had flown over to Wayne manor as fast as he could, leaving Lois more than confused and lying to Perry once more on his behalf. He really did owe her.

By the time he reached Wayne manor, Bruce still had his phone pressed against his ear, and Jason a hand on his mentor’s shoulder. The smirk that tugged at the corners of the teen’s lips indicated that the hand was not one of comfort but somewhat pride.

Clark didn’t have time to decipher the look Bruce sent him when he saw him. Instead he quickly put out the fire before it could spread and burn down the manor again.

“Have you lost your mind, Bruce?”

Jason wiped the nonexistent tears from his eyes before giving Bruce a final pat on the shoulder. “Well the show was fun while it lasted. See you later, old man.”

Bruce didn’t bother to stop him. He simply looked down at his phone where the call was still ongoing before hanging up.

“The only thing I’ve lost are my pants… and possibly a washer.”

Clark couldn’t help his jaw from dropping in complete disbelief. He knew Bruce was rather reserved, overtly so at times, but he expected Bruce to glower or frown in aggravation. This Bruce did none of that. He was eerily calm.

Too calm.

Clark sighed. “I’ll help you clean up. Alfred shouldn’t be subjected to this.”

“Alfred is currently indisposed.” Bruce said. “If you’re staying, I’ll brew us some tea.”

“Bruce, you don’t—” Before Clark could stop him, Bruce had departed the room. His movements were stiff. They were robotic in a way, but Clark couldn’t seem to find the words to break the spell Bruce found himself under. At the same time, Clark wasn’t sure if there was a solution for Bruce’s current predicament.

Alfred was… He was simply irreplaceable. He was a third parent to Bruce, and after Bruce losing his first two… he couldn’t lose Alfred.

Hearing glass shatter from the kitchen was evident enough that Bruce was lost without him. Clark had silently picked up the shards of broken glass from the floor, and brewed them both a cup of tea.

Bruce didn’t touch his cup nor did Clark. Instead the two silently cleaned the laundry room least the water leak through the floor.

“I’ll show you how to do laundry, but we’ll need a working washer.” Clark said, and Bruce simply nodded.

Clark had led the way to a laundry mat, where he explained to Bruce the importance of separating lights from darks, and how to get rid of certain stains. The two worked silently side by side each other.

Bruce wore a Gotham baseball cap to hide his features, but even Clark didn’t need to see past the brim to know what was running through Bruce’s mind. The way his analytical fingers seem to clamber along dirtied shirts, and fumble at bunched socks, belied Bruce’s fear.

He was afraid. The mythical-bat who was supposed to be fear personified was afraid of something very real: loss.

Even Clark was afraid. He was always afraid that one day, one night, one crook would lodge a bullet into an unsuspecting Batman. He was afraid that one day, he would have to read the headlines of Bruce Wayne deceased. He was afraid that one day, he might never get a text from Bruce again, even if it was to say that the washing machine was on fire.

Clark almost laughed. A self-deprecating chuckle nearly passed his lips when his fingers ran across a darkened red spot. It was Bruce’s shirt – a simple one. Clark could see it was most likely for training, but it was nonetheless stained by blood. It was not much, and Clark shouldn’t be too upset, but he was.

His hand bunched in the cloth, leaving wrinkles in his wake.

“Clark.” Bruce spoke up.

Clark let the irony pass him this time. It was a huff of a bitter laugh, followed by the shake of his head of how ridiculous this was. It was all ridiculous from him nearly crying in a laundry mat over a blood stain, to Bruce going out every night to come back bloodied himself.

And Yet it was Alfred who greeted him in the cave every night. It was Alfred who washed the blood from Bruce’s clothes. It was Alfred who did everything without so much as shed a tear that threatened to spill from Clark, nor set washers on fire for that matter.  

Clark’s jaw tightened to hold back any further untimely laughs.

“Alfred is going to be fine, Bruce.” Clark tossed the shirt into an open washer. “He is stronger than the both of us.”

It was Bruce’s turn to huff, followed by a knowing smirk tugging the corners of his lips. “Yes, he is the strongest person I know.”

A smile was shared between them, and finally Clark felt as if the spell had been broken. A weight lifted from their shoulders. To Alfred they were being such children. He would be fine. He would most likely outlive the both of them at the rate Clark and Bruce were going, but they couldn’t think of loss now. They couldn’t bear to think that one day, one of them would be the first to fall. They couldn’t…

Without thinking, Clark moved to wrap his arms around Bruce. Immediately Bruce stiffened, but he didn’t push Clark away. He allowed Clark to hold him. Perhaps it was because he was already vulnerable, but another part of him knew it was more than that.

He returned the embrace with a warm hand against Clark’s shoulder. “Is this part of the laundry process too? Impromptu hugs?”

Clark laughed. “Yes, this is a very important step to washing away stains.”

Bruce smiled. “I see, please elucidate.”

“Well, you see, Mr. Wayne.” Clark lifted Bruce up to sit upon the counter with him standing between his legs. “In order to clean stains, there must be a stain.”

“Oh, and how might one procure these stains?” Bruce wrapped his legs around Clark.

“I have a few ideas.”

Clark leaned in to kiss Bruce – washing away his worries. He didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or several years from now. What he knew was the softness of Bruce’s lips against his, and mischievous fingers working open the buttons of his shirt. He knew Bruce was here with him now, laughing, smiling, happy – they were happy, and that’s what mattered the most.

 

-Some Time Later-

“Have a fun time?”

“Lois, I cannot thank you enough for covering for me again… I’m really sorry about—”

“Clark.” Lois interjected. “Your shirt.”

“My shirt?” Clark looked down at the inky stains that covered the front of it.

Shoot.

Clark didn’t know how he missed it, but it was certainly incriminating. Did he not check the pockets? Did a pen explode in the dryer?

“Next time you leave work for a quickie, I’m giving Perry your unedited articles.”

“Lois,” Clark started slowly. “I can explain. It wasn’t like that.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire, Kent.”

Despite the look of fury on Lois’s face, and the very real threat she held over him, Clark couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

She had no idea how true that statement was.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hah, so just so everyone can piece together the snap story: [It starts out nice](http://i.ytimg.com/vi/4SFp1IWxMBA/maxresdefault.jpg), [then kicking it up a notch ;)](https://img.ifcdn.com/images/770730320388610da706edbeef109da79aa68cd995733425a92ba6b519e7bf05_1.jpg), and then lastly, [the snap that inspired this fic](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2016/07/26/15/369B116D00000578-0-image-a-4_1469543299732.jpg)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the fic! As for what caused the fire, I either blame Jason for having something in his pockets and Bruce not checking them, or that it wasn't detergent Bruce used... Also, sorry if things turned a little serious towards the end. Nonetheless, I hope the inkpen explosion made up for the heartache. Thanks for reading and take care!


End file.
